


Authors - An Illustrated and Bawdy Prequel Fanfic

by Bluedraggy



Category: Prequel (Webcomic)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:33:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 19,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23683204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluedraggy/pseuds/Bluedraggy
Summary: This story takes place immediately after the end of Kazerad's side-game named Saturalia Nightmare ( https://www.prequeladventure.com/this/nightmare/ ) and the day before the sidestory "Quill-Weave: Take Control of the Situation" ( https://www.prequeladventure.com/quill-weave-take-control-of-the-situation/ ) . The artwork was all drawn by KuroNeko and colored/shaded by me.A quick summation - Quill-Weave has been visited nightly by Vaermina, Daedric prince of nightmares. At the end, she is inspired to take control of her life, take risks and pursue her ambitions. That's enough to grasp the story.This is sort of a road-trip as Quill-Weave takes one of her routine excursions to Chorrol to visit her friend and lover Casta Scribonia, with a special surprise for Casta. However, Casta also has a surprise for Quill. Illustrated by KuroNeko (and me doing the colors/shading!)  It is also unabashedly lewd - but not pornographic.
Relationships: Quill-Weave/Casta Scribonia
Kudos: 5





	1. Rings

* * *

“It’s high-time anyway,” Quill thought as she stood outside the jewelry store in Anvil. “Five years we’ve been in this… thing we have going on. It’s time to take it to the next level. And it’s not like anything needs to change, or even become public knowledge. Just a private little ceremony to make it official should be fine. No need to change anything really. It’s just… an acknowledgement of our affection and commitment, that’s all.”

And yet, if all that were so, why was she so nervous? 

“Fuck it,” she decided finally. “The dream was right. I’m not getting any younger.. Neither is she for that matter, and Argonians live longer than humans too. I know that was grey I saw in her hair last time, even if she denies it. But she’s so damned energetic. She almost matches me and she hasn’t even got a tail! Pretty good for a middle aged human.”

Also, the timing was perfect. Quill had sent a reply back to the cryptic invitation she’d gotten from Casta just a few days ago. Of course she would be there. But now she was going to have quite a surprise of her own!

She looked around to make sure that no one she knew was around, and stepped inside.

Over an hour later, she stepped back outside. She’d put the damn things in her pocket, but all the way home she couldn’t help herself from involuntarily touching the boxes. It was all she could do to keep from running. One of her gaming friends hailed her from down the street as she neared her house, but there was no way she could fritter away time with _those_ in her pocket, so she ignored him as if she hadn’t heard.

Fortunately he didn’t call again and she slipped inside and locked the door behind her.

She closed the blinds - a sure sign she was writing and didn’t want to be disturbed that was well known to all of her friends.

Then she went up to her room, took out the boxes, and opened them slowly. Any other Argonian would have recognized the expression that came over her face as she gazed upon the small precious rings that glimmered like golden stars in her eyes. It would not have been called a grin by humans because she didn’t bare her teeth - but in her way she was smiling ear-to-ear.

She drew the larger one out of its box and slipped it onto her finger. She sincerely hoped the other would fit Casta. She had only a rough estimate of Casta’s ring finger size of course, though the jeweler assured her that any competent jeweler could resize it if needed. But her own - it was cast using her own finger for a gauge so it fit perfectly.

She twisted it around, so that the jewel faced her palm. She would probably wear it backwards most often - she did not like to attract attention or any display of ostentatiousness - but even as a simple band of gold, it made her happy. She wore no jewelry, and certainly not those gaudy fin-rings her cousin wore - the tramp.

Suddenly she couldn’t wait for tomorrow to come so she could begin the long, but familiar, trip to Chorrol. She thought for a second about the money she had spent on the rings. A ludicrous amount, but she led a very non-extravagant lifestyle, so when she did splurge, she splurged _hard_.

She put the ring back and admired the two side-by-side. Sort of like those peaceful moments when she lay beside Casta. Those were the best.

Then she closed the cases and blew out the candle.


	2. The Gold Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the road again... I just can't wait to get on the road again. The life I love is making music with my friends, and I can't wait to get on the road again.

* * *

It was a long trek to Chorrol. She wouldn’t arrive until the following day, but she was up for it. She knew the trail well, and had gained immunity from most thieves over the years by writing up their exploits in her stories. Wild animals were, of course, a concern but they rarely bothered people who stayed on the legionnaire-patrolled roads.

She closed and locked her door promptly at first light, then double checked her pack and the special pocket where she carried the rings. Any would-be robbers would be hard pressed to find it without a thorough search, even if it did make walking a bit uncomfortable.

As she left Anvil and walked out into the wilds of Tamriel, she took a deep breath of the cool morning air. She was feeling alive like she hadn’t in weeks, maybe years. The daily drudgery that was an author’s life was grinding. She liked the writing, certainly! She could lose herself in that when inspired, and wouldn’t even notice the time - except for those annoying trips to the bathroom. Once she’d actually tried not drinking anything all day to reduce them, but it only served to make her lose her train of thought as her mind wandered to thirst.

But in between inspirations, there was always the lurking fear that she might never again be able to think of something to write about. Those were the best times to get out of the house, or out of town altogether. She might not be immediately inspired to write about her experiences, or the inspiration might have nothing to do with them, but it usually did work.

A few miles out of town she saw an old, crumbling wall running on one side of the road. She knew it well, but today she felt like walking on it. She hopped up on top, balanced till she had steadied herself, and hopped from capstone to capstone - and not always successfully. As she tumbled off one that had shifted unexpectedly, she laughed as she hit the ground deftly.

“First rule of acrobatics,” she thought to herself as she leaped back on top of the wall and continued her hopping, “is to know how to fall.”

All too soon the wall ran out and she had to go back to the road. Later she passed some people coming the other way, guarded by a legionnaire. She nodded to the guard - she’d seen him before. They’d even talked one day when they were going the same direction. But he’d never told her his name.

Around midday she crossed a bridge and took refuge from the sun in it’s shade. After verifying it was troll-free, she ate her lunch peacefully underneath it and looked longingly at the cool, clear water. The heat of day had really come on and she might well have stayed there in the shade till late afternoon, but she was impatient to get on with her trip today. 

She checked the road in both directions. All clear. Then she swiftly tucked all her clothes and gear into her bag, hid it well in a little hollow under the bridge where it met the rising ground, and tiptoed back to the stream. She risked one toe to test the water. It was cool, but not unpleasantly so. 

She stepped deeper in, and felt the water surge around her calves. It wasn’t very deep, and the water was flowing lazily. No risk of getting swept downstream. She lowered herself into the water, shivering as sensitive parts were immersed, but they were soon acclimated and she lay back, letting the heat of the day flow downriver.

Of course, no sooner had she gotten to that ultra-comfortable state where her eyelids slid closed than she heard voices and the unmistakable clop of hooves. She thought about getting out, but it was far too comfortable.

As predicted, they passed on with nary a glance and she spread her arms and legs apart and closed her eyes again.

“Hello Quill,” came a voice from behind her.

Instinctively she recoiled, covering herself. But it was just a solo-bandit she’d met some months ago. He liked her, she knew, but he was harmless - at least to her. She relaxed.

“Hi Brill,” she said as she lay back again.

“A little skinny dipping on a hot day?”

“Yeah. Heading to Chorrol again.”

“Mind if I join you?”

She opened one eye and looked at the Orsimer. She’d never actually seen one naked.

“Long as you stay on the other side, sure!”

“Afraid I’ll rape you?”

She laughed. “Me? Are you kidding? I’d be flattered if I made it hard.”

She heard him disrobing behind her and he splashed his way over to the other side.

“Nice,” she said after observing. “I guess it’s not true - what they say about Orcs.”

He sat down in the water, covering the subject.

“What? It gets plenty big… in the right circumstances!”

She closed her eyes again. “Afraid I wouldn’t know. Or care.”

“Nice in here though.”

“How’ve you been, Brill? Any good robberies lately?”

“I told you, I’m more of a mountain man. I can get by without any of that.”

“Legionnaires?”

“Fuck ton of em. I swear they patrol every other hour now.”

“I saw one a while back. You should be good. You want to rob me? I’m defenseless.”

“Hell no! You’d write shit about me in your next book! Probably use my real name too!”

“Maybe. You could kill me. Get rid of the body. Float me right down this river.”

“Quill. You know I don’t do that.”

“I know. Brill… I’m getting married.”

“ _ Married _ ?! The great Quill-Weave? Author of The Common Man getting married?! Who’s the lucky guy? Er… I mean, I guess girl, right?”

“Yeah. I’d rather not say till it’s official though. I haven’t asked her yet.”

“Argonian at least?”

“Imperial.”

“Really? I didn’t figure you for a bob-tail lover.”

“Not really the form that turns me on, Brill. Hell, you’re more fit than she is. Lose that god-awful stuff between your legs and…”

“Hey! I’ll have you know a lot of ladies like this god-awful stuff!”

“I’m sure they do.”

“So, when’s the big day? Is that where you’re going now?”

“Don’t know yet. I haven’t actually proposed.”

She heard the splash as her companion sat up.

Her eyes opened. She knew Brill pretty well. She wasn’t really worried about any physical harm. But she also realized she’d just said too much. A bandit was a bandit after all.

“Did you see where I put my stuff?” she asked, alert now.

“Dammit, no. I didn’t. But you have her wedding ring in there, don’t you?”

“And my own, Brill.”

“Probably worth…”

“A hell of a lot. Brill… please don’t.”

He was standing now, looking around behind her.

She stood up and looked at him seriously.

“Brill,” she said, getting his attention again, and she was glad to see his eyes focus on her.

“Brill, how much do you need? I have to keep the rings.”

“You could buy more,” he proposed.

“Wouldn’t be the same.”

“Hell, I could tell you where I pawned 'em and you can buy em back!”

“No Brill. You’re not going to do this.”

He took one last look behind her, then sighed. 

“Okay, okay. I’ll be good. I can’t say no to a nice set of lizard tits.”

She looked down and instinctively tried to cover herself again.

“Dammit Brill. Can you at least turn around? I’ll go get dressed.”

“Oh, lighten up Quill. You want to walk the rest of the way to Chorrol in wet clothes? Come on, let’s dry out.”

“The rings… your word?”

“You have my word. But you did say something about ‘how much do I need’, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Can you spare 20?”

She nodded.

“Deal. I’ll protect your modesty for 20.”

“Who’s going to protect yours?”

“Pfft. I don’t have any modesty. I’m a mountain man, remember?”

The two lay side by side, but in the shade so she could retain the coolness from the river. Finally they got dressed and Quill handed the bandit 20 gold.

“Can I see ‘em at least?”

Quil brought out the ring boxes and handed them to Brill.

He whistled when he opened the first one. It was Quill’s own.

“Damn. Quill, how much did these cost?!”

“A lot. A whole lot.”

He opened the other. The ring was smaller, but the stones were…

“Gods! Quill, this is… beautiful!”

She saw the sparkling reflection in his eyes, and felt briefly worried that he might change his mind. But he closed the second case and handed it back to her. 

She put it back in her secret place, and laughed when his jaw dropped.

“Think it will be safe there?” she laughed.

“Can you walk?”

“I get used to it. This strap holds it in place. Pretty clever, huh?”

“I’ll have to remember that next time I rob an Argonian!”

“Well, I should get moving. Good to see you again, Brill.”

“You too, Quill. Good to see  _ all _ of you! Pretty nice bod’ for an Argonian you keep under there!”

“Why thanks. And I suppose, if it doesn’t sound like flattery, you too!”

She gave him a hug and a final thanks, and then began walking again.

In general, she didn’t trust people. Yet oddly, it was the down-and-out and even criminal class that she had learned to trust. Mostly. If he’d stolen her rings, it would have been heartbreaking. She’d already invested herself in them. But she would have gotten over it. However, she would never have trusted Brill again.

It was her own fault really though. That comment about not having proposed yet. A bandit’s mind isn’t the brightest thing, but what they do understand, they understand all too well and too quickly. He’d put two-and-two together before the words had even left her tongue. She should have known better.

But in the end her estimation of him had proven right. It usually did. But not always. She was good at assessing people, but not perfect.


	3. Legionnaire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steel Tits

* * *

The day wore on, but the blessed relief from the heat she had gained from her skinny-dipping lasted well into the afternoon when some high fluffy clouds offered occasional shade as they drifted overhead. It was a gorgeous day and, despite the dangerous situation she’d put herself in earlier, her attitude had been restored to one of high hopes and a generally sunny outlook.

In the distance she heard the familiar clop-clop of a horse approaching slowly from behind her. When a rise presented itself, she looked back and saw the metallic gleam of a Legionnaire perhaps a half-mile behind her. She didn’t really mind them, but they saw too much of violence - and were too damn good at it. Still, if she judged her distances well, her arrival at the Imperial City should be safe. By the time he caught up with her at his current pace, and then went beyond her, he would still be within shouting distance by the time the city walls became visible.

She knew the highwaymen around Kvatch a lot better than those farther away, and the thieves’ guild didn’t guarantee that all thieves were members, after all. But it was awkward to have someone approaching slowly from behind. She turned to see if the Legionnaire was close enough to greet, but he was still a bit too far behind.

Another glance and she saw that it was, in fact, a _she_ inside the metal armor. She noticed the ridiculous breast-shaped curves on the breastplate.

“That,” she thought to herself as she turned back, “was a man’s idea. Or a terribly vain woman’s.”

Finally it was time to acknowledge the guard and she stopped at the side of the road.

“Hail Legionnaire!” she said, perhaps a little too formally.

“Hail Traveller,” said a high-pitched voice from within the helm. “Where are you bound, if I may ask?”

“I am Quill-Weave,” she introduced herself as the horse came plodding up to her. “An author of some small renown. I’m bound for Chorrol by way of the Imperial City. I travel these roads fairly often, but you’re the first female Legionnaire I’ve ever seen here. Are you new?”

Quill knew better than to ask her name. It just wasn’t done. Soldiers of the Imperial Legion were to be considered nothing but killing machines to lawbreakers and ironclad defenders of justice to honest citizens. Names tended to break that image.

“To this route, yes I am. Recently promoted. My last patrol was between… well, a little known route. I single handedly took down a band of thieves last month in fact. Rather proud of that.”

Quill-Weave wondered if she might have known the band, but didn’t pursue the question.

“Not many women in the Legion,” she noted.

“Three, counting me, that i know of,” said the woman on horseback.

Quill was intrigued. “Ma,am, if you don’t mind… I am an author after all, and you interest me. Mind if I walk with you a bit?”

The woman looked down from her horse and smiled at Quill. She was young. Probably in her twenties.

“Certainly citizen,” she said as she reigned in the horse and jumped down from the saddle without even using the stirrup. “I’ll walk with you!”

“Agile too,” Quill noted mentally.

“What is it you’d like to know about me?”

“Well… how did you become a Legionnaire?”

“Oh. Long story. But I’ll make it brief. Not really too keen on wifery, parents tried to set me up with a boy that liked me. Too bad, that. He was a nice guy too. But when people tell you what to do - at my age then - well, you go and do the opposite thing. I left for the City. Turns out I kick ass pretty well. When I got to the city, some guys tried to take me, and I let them know their mistake. Well, the captain of the guard just happened to be watching. Didn’t do a damn thing to stop them, I noticed, but when it was all over… Talked me into it really. I was a guard the next day. A year later, promoted. A year after that, I became a Legionnaire!”

“So now you wear the boob-armor?”

The Legionnaire took off her helmet and shook out her hair. It was ridiculously long and blonde, and Quill-Weave felt no jealousy whatsoever. Probably.

“Yeah. They make us wear that. As if my boobs need special protection. It’s pretty pathetic. One day I’ll hire a blacksmith to get rid of them.”

“At least they didn’t add nipple protection.”

“I bet they wanted to. Lord knows what they’d come up with for the codpiece if they thought about it.”

“So… you kick ass. Anything else you do?”

Her companion grinned. “Other than taking care of my horse? Yeah. I have a social life, if that’s what you mean.”

“Among the other guards I assume?”

“Guards?! Hell no. Other Soldiers. Guards are dull. At least we get to travel.”

“Ever think about striking out on your own? Become an adventurer?”

“Thought about it. Not for me. I like a steady income.”

“That would be nice,” Quill-Weave sighed.

“Oh. I guess authors don’t get paid regularly.”

“It’s really not easy. I mean - it’s not dangerous like yours, but you do live in constant fear that your next book won’t sell. I’ve got a friend, she does romantic fiction. Cranks those suckers out like dough through a cookie-cutter. She doesn’t have to worry - change some names, scenery and bam! New story!”

“You could do that. Write that kind of thing, I mean,” said the soldier.

Quill thought about that. “But… it wouldn’t be fun! Well, not to me. The same story over and over? Guy meets girl. Love ensues. Crisis happens. Couple break up. Crisis resolved. Couple fuck. You know?”

She saw the blush at the word.

“Oh, sorry. I’m a little crude sometimes I’m afraid. I just… you’re a soldier after all.”

“It’s okay. I’m just not used to it.”

“Really? I would think soldiers…”

“I’m sure they do. But not around me. I’m a _fucking_ prima-donna.”

The word sounded like it was pried from her lips under torture.

Quill stopped and gave the Legionnaire a disapproving look. “No. Don’t. It doesn’t work if it’s forced. If you don’t cuss, don’t try. It’s obvious.”

“Sorry. So what kind of books do you write?”

“Oh, I dabble in different things. Crime and Destitution mostly. Some nonfiction though.”

“Ah. I thought so. I’ve seen your books in our library. Never read one, but I’ve heard of you!”

Quill-Weave shrugged. “No matter. Do you read?”

Surprisingly she saw the girl blush again. “A little… when I’m on patrol and nothing’s going on. Which means pretty much all day long.”

Quill was now intrigued for real. Readers are a rare commodity in Cyrodiil. “What do you read?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t want to know,” she protested a little too forcefully.

“What?!” Quill demanded.

“It’s… kind of embarrassing.”

Quill cocked her head to one side. “What? Erotica? Look girl, we’re all sexual creatures here. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“Huh?! NO! Not that!”

“...because if so I’ve got a little book in my pack you might like.”

The soldier scrambled for her own pack and drew out a worn book. The lurid picture on the outside told her everything she needed to know. Worse than erotica. Romance! And yes, there it was… Casta Scribonia in cursive underneath the shirtless muscular khajiit model on the cover. She’d never seen such long hair on a khajiit. But it did make him... “

“Oh,” Quill said.

“I can’t help it. I like them!”

“It’s okay. Really it is. Obviously it’s not the sort of stories I like to tell, but there is a certain charm to them. I didn’t mean to insinuate that there’s something wrong with them. Casta is very inventive, even if they are somewhat formulaic.”

“Oh! Do you know Casta Scribonia?”

Quill wasn’t sure if she should reveal too much. But this Legionnaire was a reader, and actual readers were such rare and wonderful creatures!

“I’m going to meet her tomorrow in fact.”

“Really! Oh, that must be wonderful! To know the person who brought these people to life I mean.”

“Characters. They’re characters,” Quill said, tiring a bit now. She had her own characters, after all. It’s not like Casta was the only author out there! Though probably for this particular reader, she was.

“I can ask her to drop by and meet you sometime. I’m sure she’d love to meet one of her fans,” Quill said, all the while thinking “I know I would!”

“Oh, could you? Look, my name is Ashley. I’m off midweek every week. Please ask her to stop by the Compound!”

“I will,”

“Thanks so much!” she said as she donned her helmet again. “It would mean so much to me! But there’s the city. I need to get back to work. Thanks again Quill-Weave!”

“No problem,” Quill said, seeing the spire of the great tower in the distance but feeling a little dejected. Still, she had her own readers out there somewhere. She must. She kept getting the royalty payments.

“Oh, before I go,” Ashley said after mounting, “What’s one of your books I should read? I promise I will!”

“I guess any would be fine. Red Crater is pretty popular. I’d say it’s one of my best, but I find the one I’m currently writing is always ‘my best’ to me.”

“Red Crater. Got it. Have a good trip, Quill-Weave!”

“You too!”

She watched the Legionnaire set off at a trot towards the city in front of her as she crossed the Red Road, and the traffic picked up. The amber light of the waning sun glinted off the fake boobs on her breastplate.

“Her real ones are probably as firm as the steel ones,” Quill thought morosely. “Youth is wasted on the young.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I wrote this before FFVII Remake came out. Otherwise I would have named her Jessie.


	4. The Imperial CIty

* * *

The Imperial City never failed to impress. She suspected its builders - those mysterious Ayleids - planned it that way. No one could look up to the sky at the white-gold tower and not feel a little awe at the sight. She had seen it countless times, usually around this time of day when the setting sun’s red and purple rays glinted off it’s smooth surface. It even seemed that the light hitting the top of the tower was brighter than that on the lower side - as if it was straining to see the sun over the horizon.

The Ayleids. Songs were still sung of them occasionally, usually by the High Elves - their distant cousins. As she approached the massive wall gate, she wondered what they would think of their highest achievement now being home to a bunch of upstart Imperial humans. Would they choose to destroy the whole place before allowing that desecration? She suspected so.

And yet here she was, story-weaver to the same humans. The common language she wrote in wasn’t her first language. To become so fluent in another tongue as to be able to write stories without her alien-ness bleeding through the pages required immersion so deep that she didn’t even think of herself as Argonian any longer. She was proud of her heritage, but she thought like a human now. It was necessary to be able to tell her stories properly, and that was her essence. She’d always had a certain attraction to humans, and wanted nothing more than to tell them stories, though quite why, she couldn’t say.

Yet she’d never really expected to be as well-integrated into their society as she had become. Her body was too strange. Even the Khajiit were at least mammalian. She was something else entirely. Racists would call her a lizard, but she knew her biology bore very little in common with them or any reptiles. It was as if the Hist had used reptiles for a model, but the base materials were from something even farther removed. Something aquatic.

There was conjecture among some humans that in eons past, long before the rise of elves or humans, other creatures roamed Tamriel. They’d found bone-shaped stones that appeared to be reptilian. Among the Argonians, they conjectured that the Hist had created Argonians to resemble those prehistoric reptiles. But the Hist had been mistaken when it assumed the dominant race would be reptilian. Now the dominant races were increasingly human or human-like. Scales were no longer the order of the day. Tails, excepting the Khajiits and not even all of them, were long out of vogue. 

And so the Hist were slowly reshaping the Argonians. Bit by bit, in fits and starts, over generations they were becoming more and more human-like. The rise of mammalian-like glands among the females was one obvious trait, but there were others. Ancient Argonian drawings had been discovered, but none bore breasts like she had. For that matter, none bore external genitalia which was now the norm for Argonian males. The Hist was making up for a mistake long ago - making up for lost time. Why? No one knew, even among their own kind.

She shook her head and cleared it of it’s meanderings. Such things simply didn’t concern her. She was what she was. She liked what she liked, and if the Hist had caused her to exist in this way at this time, she had no choice anyway - so why bother? It was an attitude not popular with her family, so she had abandoned them long ago. She had never once regretted that decision.

She found herself at the door of the Tiber Septim Hotel, her normal stop on her trip to Chorrol - at least when she wasn’t worried about money. Funny thing, that. She hadn’t really been worried about money in years. And yet, she was always worried about money in a more distant dread sort of way. Someday the words would dry up, and then so would the royalties.

Augusta Calidia looked up from behind the bar and saw her, beckoning her over.

“You got my letter then?” she asked.

“Certainly Quill-Weave. Your normal room is waiting for you. Here’s the key. Shall I bring up dinner?”

“Oh yes! Please! But not till after I’ve taken a bath,” she said, suddenly salivating. She only just now realized how hungry she had gotten.

“I’ll have it sent up afterwards. Just tell the attendant to let me know when you’re done. Make yourself comfortable. You’re welcome to come back down after you’re settled!”

Augusta was a good woman, if a bit too obvious. On a binge night Qull-Weave could outspend the cost of the room, bath and meals three-to-one. And she felt good today. It wasn’t such a long walk on to Chorrol from here. She could wake up a little late.

She climbed the stairs, stepped into her room, and pulled her pack from her shoulders. She sighed at the release. Fit she may be, but even a light pack can get to chafe after a full day’s walk. She didn’t sweat, but a full day’s dust can get under one’s scales. The solution was the same if she was a human - water. Preferably warm.

She took her walking shoes off and padded down the back stairs to the outdoor bath. Modest she normally was, but communal baths were the one place that modesty was dismissed. Still, she was glad to see no one was around except the lone bath attendant - an Imperial man.

“Welcome, guest! You are Quill-Weave, right? Augusta told me you’d be down.”

“I am.”

“Pardon, but if you would prefer a female attendant I can get…”

“If it’s okay, I’d prefer you.”

“Very well. I’m experienced in Argonian bathing techniques, though I must admit I’ve not bathed a female argonian before.”

“Oh, not much difference I’m sure. We’ve got less to worry about I expect.”

“This is true! Any areas of concern? Wounds, bruises or other areas you’d rather I not wash?”

“None. You can scrub every inch. Just… if you get horny, don’t let me know. Got it?”

“Check! I’ll strap myself down tight,” he said as she climbed into the bath.

She laughed a short, barking laugh. “You’re funny. What’s your name?”

“Call me Cliff,” he answered as he climbed into the large bath with her. 

She sat on the center pedestal, only waist-deep in the deliciously warm water as he poured water over her head and down her chest and back. She held out her arms for him to douse them as well.

“So, any news in the Imperial City I should know about?”

She felt the cool lotion flow down the back of her head and over her head-fins as he began to rub it into her scales by hand. Some establishments used a soft scrub brush for this, but she preferred this method. It combined a bath and a massage, and she adored both. A professional attendant would know that her scales were far softer than most other species assumed, and more resilient. He risked no harm to himself or her by being firm.

Frankly, in some ways she  _ would _ have preferred a female attendant, but that usually led to embarrassment. This kept things professional, as long as she didn’t inadvertently turn him on. But that had never happened at the Tiber Septim. Or, at least, none had been so unprofessional as to make it obvious. She’d eyed evidence to the contrary, but they kept that evidence under wraps. While she might not be physically attracted to men, it was nice to know they were still sometimes attracted to her.

His fingers massaged the lotion up underneath the scales of her back, slowly working his way down. It felt glorious.

“Oh, politics. I doubt you’d care much about that.”

“Anything major?”

“Just a row about a Counsellor’s nephew. Nepotism accusations. Really pretty much business as usual. Arms up!”

She raised her arms and felt the lotion flow under them. It tickled, but his warm fingers quickly followed up and she relaxed again. He was, she had to admit, good at his job.

“Sounds like it. Oh, that’s nice. You been doing this long?”

“Not here at the Tiber. I worked the public baths for quite a long time though. Was hired away by Augusta.”

“Well it shows,” Quill complimented him.

He moved to her front and began the process again. She was pleased to note he spent no more and no less time on her breasts than the rest of her. A true professional.

“Stand on the pedestal, please.”

She did as requested. “See? Less hassle!”

He laughed, and poured the lotion over her abdomen and down her legs, rubbing it in under her scales. He missed nothing, though he did pause to make sure she was okay with it before proceeding to her more private parts.

“Turn around please. So, I hear you’re an author?”

She did his bidding, lifting her tail when requested.

“I am. Do you read?”

“Certainly! But I’m not much for fiction.”

“I write nonfiction sometimes. Historical stuff mostly.”

“Oh really? Well, now that does sound interesting! Bend over.”

“Yow! That’s cold!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll warm you up.”

“Ahhh. Thanks. Yeah, for example I wrote a book on the history of Anvil and its port. Fascinating stuff if I do say so myself. Know why it was named Anvil?”

“Heh. No. Enlighten me!”

“It was originally known as Balon’s Anvil. He was a famous blacksmith. People came from miles around for his work. The port was added later, to get his goods shipped out quicker.”

“Really? A blacksmith? Tail down.”

She felt the lotion flow across her tail spine and the hands begin their work.

“A true story! You can still find maps that label it as Balon’s Anvil. Old maps. Hundreds of years old.”

“You like research then?”

Quill’s eyes lit up and she turned back to watch the attendant work on her tail.

“It’s great. There are so many libraries scattered around Cyrodiil. So many books are unexplored. When I do my nonfiction, I feel like I’m just gathering up fascinating facts about the subject and letting people know what they should already know. History is…”

“Your passion. I see that! Okay, you can sit back on the pedestal. I’ll rinse you off.”

“Does it show so much? Yes, I guess it is. At least one of them.”

He dumped another bucketful of water over her head and began rinsing her off.

“Great bath. Thanks Cliff.”

“No thanks needed. It’s my chosen profession.”

“Well, you are good at your profession,” Quill said, climbing out of the bath while Cliff began clearing the tools of his trade out. “If you see Augusta, tell her I’d love to get dinner now!”

“I’ll do so.”

Quill dried herself off and went back to her room. She felt truly refreshed. She also felt ravenous, and when the knock came at her door she took it greedily and set to the task with relish.

FInally she sat on the bed and began picking her teeth lazily, sipping on wine that had been provided along with her dinner.

“Ah, this is the life,” she thought as she finished her post-dinner cleanup. Then she lay back, patted her now-full belly, and let natural lethargy take over.


	5. The Tiber Septim Hotel

S he woke slowly, wondering idly if it was too late to go down to the tavern. But then she noticed the raucous sound of merrymaking and the bard’s voice crooning. It was prime-time down there. She stretched and yawned, then scratched herself in places she couldn’t scratch in public, and stood up.

As she came down into the tavern, she smiled at a small group below that noticed her, and their shouts of “Lizard Babe!” were heard.

Augusta looked up from behind the bar, somewhat alarmed, but Quill-Weave waived her concern away. If she couldn’t handle a few drunks at a bar, she had no right to be in a bar in the first place.

As she walked past the table she patted one of the patrons on the cheek with her tail. “Like lizard babes do you, monkey boy?”

That set off a round of laughter at the table. Fortunately her victim had a good sense of humor as well.

“Come back Lizard Babe!” he called as she crossed to the bar.

“What can I get you, Quill?” Augusta asked, multitasking all the while. She was a good taverner in all respects.

“Oh, something strong. I feel like getting drunk tonight. Just don’t let me go too wild.”

“It’s a wild night. Don’t make me responsible!”

She took the glass offered and wiggled a couple fingers at her. “Another!”

“Pretty strong stuff,” Augusta replied, but started pouring again.

“I’m a pretty strong girl. Give it.”

She took the drinks and crossed back to the Lizard Babe table.

“Hey boys, got a free seat?”

“For you! Sure!” said the cheeky one. He patted his lap.

“Oh no. Lap dances cost money, big boy!”

“Damn. I don’t have any money.”

“Then you’re in the wrong bar, stud!” she laughed - but sat on his lap anyway, to the hoots of his friends.

“What are you drinking tonight, Lizard Babe?” said the guy on her right.

“No idea. You wanna taste?”

He shrugged and she passed a glass to him. “Careful, I’m no milk-drinker.”

He took a sip and started coughing.

“HOLY SHIT!”

She took the glass back and took a sip. It was damn strong, but she played it off like it was nothing.

“Oh! It’s a Fireball. Guess Auggy wants to turn me into a dragon tonight.”

“Dragon with tits!” Said the fat guy across the table.

“Careful, big boy. I can fit your entire head within my mouth, and I’m not talking about your little one!”

“Dammit, here,” said the guy she was sitting on. “Lemme up. I’ll get you a chair. You’re fun!”

“Well thank you, Mr. Seatcushion,” she laughed but let him up. It took awhile for him to find a chair. While he was gone, she took his seat.

“You’ll have to excuse us, lady. We’re maybe a little drunk,” said the guy beside her. “But let me introduce myself. They call me Weather. My fat friend here is Blackie and your seat cushion was Carl.”

“Why thanks… Weather. Interesting name. I’m Quill. Nice to meet you.”

“Mind if I compliment you on your speech? Don’t hear many Argonians sound as, um…”

“No, it’s okay. I’ve been living in Cyrodiil a long, long time. It’s part of my profession. I’ve been told I speak like a native.”

“You do!” said Carl, returning with a chair and sitting beside her..

“So,” Quill said as she took a hefty drink, “You guys from out of town?”

“Na,” said Blackie from across the table. “We’re locals. We come here all the time. Nice tavern. Expensive enough to keep out the riff-raff, hardly ever a fight and the crapper’s not too bad.”

“Crapper?” she asked, not familiar with the term.

“Lavatory? Bathroom?”

“Oh! The piss-holes.”

All three laughed at that and Quill began to feel a little light headed, but took another drink.

“Hey, any of you feel like dancing with a lizard tonight? Or do you think we’d offend people here. I know the Imperial City is pretty good with the other races, but… Well, I wouldn’t want to start a scene.”

“Oh, nobody here would mind. Or if they did they sure as hell wouldn’t say anything.”, said Blackie from across the table. “Now some of the other taverns maybe, but not in Augustas’ place!”

“So, how about it Blackie? Can you move those feet a little with me? Shake your non-existent tail?”

The big man looked at his friends, who encouraged him.

“Okay, but I’m not very good…”

“Here, have a drink of my Fireball. You won’t get better, but you won’t care as much and neither will I!” she said, standing up and handing him the second glass.

“Careful Blackie, that stuff’s got a kick!” Weather warned, but Blackie took a good sized gulp, set the glass down, and took Quill’s hand. She smiled and matched him, then let him lead her out to the dancing area. It was already occupied by four other couples while the Bard continued to play a jaunty melody that sounded like it could go on all night.

In fact, Blackie turned out to be the best dancer of the three, despite his size. Carl wasn’t bad, but obviously didn’t actually know any dance steps per-se. Eventually they even persuaded Weather to get up. He really sucked at dancing, but she still liked him best of the three, and she didn’t make him embarrass himself too long before she pulled him back to their table.

“Wow!” said Carl as they sat back down. “You know, I’ve never seen Weather dance before, Quill.”

“Is that what that was?” Quill said, but she patted Weather on the back and he took the ribbing well. “I brought him back because I thought he was having a seizure.”

“Nice,” Weather groaned.

Quill held up her remaining glass, which was getting alarmingly close to its empty. 

“Here’s to Weather!” Quill shouted, maybe a little too loudly. “He may not be able to dance for shit, but he’s brave enough to prove it!”

The returning shouts of “Here, here!” came not only from the others at the table, but from quite a few other patrons who had watched the spectacle as well. Weather stood dutifully and raised his glass to them, before downing it. Quill and the others did likewise.

“Well, gentlemen...” she began, rising after Weather had sat back down.

“Oh, you’re not leaving us already are you?” Blackie said sadly.

“You can’t go yet!” Weather protested. “The night is still young!”

“As am I,” Quill laughed. “No, I’m going to check out the piss-holes and see how not-bad it really is. Anybody want anything? Another round?”

“You buying?” Carl asked, and Quill could see his eyes brighten.

She looked at Blackie. “Is he always like this?”

“Only before payday.”

She nodded and put a hand on Carl’s shoulder. “I got it, Carl.”

“Never thought I’d be getting drinks from an Argonian!” he said sincerely, and Quill patted his shoulder.

“Everybody has their ups and downs, Carl. You caught me on an up, and you’re on a down. Remember some poor Argonian some day when you’re back on an up.”

“You got it Quill!”

She left and stopped by the bar, ordered another round for the table - and two for her - and went to check out the piss-hole.

This was actually one of the reasons she didn’t mind paying for the high price of a night at the Tiber. They had separate restrooms for the males and females. That wasn’t the case back home in Anvil, and sometimes things got awkward. Plus, the women were SO much more accurate with their aim.

When she returned, Blackie was gone but new drinks were around the table.

“Where’s Blackie?” 

“Piss-hole,” Carl lauged, and took a deep drink from his mug. “Here’s to you, Quill! And, really, thanks!”

She nodded and tapped her glass against his mug. “Here’s to the up-times!”

“To the up times!”

“So, you wanna pay me back? Let’s see if that Bard knows any other dance songs!”

Carl was on his feet instantly, if a little wobbly, and took her hand. 

As he led her to the dance floor, she realized she was actually having a hell of a good time. She could grow to like this. Even if it wasn’t Casta. She should take Casta to a tavern sometime.

The rest of the night got slowly more fuzzy, but she was having more fun that she’d had in an awfully long time. Yet eventually the drink took its toll. The tavern had begun to thin out, and Blackie started to nod off.

“Well,” Carl said to Weather, “I think Blackie’s had enough. You gonna walk him home or me?”

“I’ll do the <hic> honors,” Weather said.

“Thanks, pal,” Carl said as he stood. “Time for me too I’m afraid, Quill. It’s been really great though. Will you be here tomorrow night?”

“No. I gotta go to Chorrol. Got a big thing to do. You take care Carl!” 

“Can you watch Blackie for a minute while I go stop by the… pisser?”

“No problem,” Quill said.

While he was gone, Augustas came by the table. “Separate bills I assume?”

“Na,” she said. “They were fun. Put it on my tab.”

Augusta whispered a figure, wanting to confirm.

“What, that’s all? Hell, I’ve drank more’n that by myself!”

“Very good, Quill. Um… you will remember this in the morning, right?”

“Oh… maybe not. I better sign the bill.”

She did so, wondering how legible her handwriting was in this state, but managed to get the job done.

Weather returned and got Blackie awake enough to get his arm around his shoulder and they headed for the door with considerable effort.

“Ah hell,” Quill sighed as she watched the two stumble towards the door. “Literally one step forward, two steps back.”

She caught up with Weather and Blackie before they’d even managed to get to the door, and she held it open before leaving the tavern herself. Amid Weather’s grateful thanks, she pulled Blackie’s other arm over her own shoulder and the three of them stumbled into the dark street outside.

  
  



	6. Flirting

* * *

“It’s not far,” Weather explained. “Just a few blocks into the Residential section.”

They’d almost reached that area when Blackie stopped for a moment and threw up at the side of the road.

“There, he’ll sober up pretty quick now,” Weather explained.

Blackie seemed to have forgotten Quill when she helped him back to his feet. The scream was pretty comical, though at this time of night it could rouse the ire of the guards.

“For fuck’s sake, Blackie, shut the hell up!” Weather commanded as he got the drunk back under control. “She’s just trying to help.”

“Oh, sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m drunk.”

“I’ve noticed,” Quill said. “Let’s just get you home, okay?”

“Sorry about that, Quill,” Weather said from the other side.

“Oh, it’s okay. We get used to it pretty quick. Sometimes it comes in handy when some human sees us as a monster with sharp teeth and all. I think, given our physical differences, it’s probably a natural reaction.”

“Yeah, I suppose so. Still, after tonight you’d think he’d know better.”

“I’m afraid it’s too ingrained, Weather. We’re too different, physically at least.”

They arrived at Blackie’s door and Weather knocked. A bleary-eyed woman opened the door and Blackie walked in as if it was routine. The woman grunted her thanks to Weather and begrudgingly acknowledged Quill as well.

“Let me walk you back to the hotel?” Weather offered.

The offer was really not necessary - the Imperial city at night was well patrolled. But Quill liked the guy, even if he sucked at dancing.

“Sure. Thanks, Weather. So what, did your mom not like you when you were born or something?”

“Oh, it’s just a nickname. My real name’s Laythe. To be honest, I’m not sure how I got the nickname. I’ve had it since I was a kid.”

“Well, glad to meet you officially, Laythe. It’s been a fun night.”

“Yeah, it has.”

The two walked in somewhat awkward silence for a little bit.

“Say, Quill…”

She looked at him. “Yeah?”

“Not… everyone is bothered by your body you know.”

Now she was intrigued. Was he actually coming on to her?

“No?” she replied. She was just drunk enough still to want to verify where this was going before nipping it in the bud.

He looked her in the eye. “No. Some of us kinda like the differences.”

“Like who?” she smiled back at him. She’d been faking human expressions so long she didn’t even have to think about it. Expose a little teeth - just a little. It wasn’t really even fake anymore, it was reflexive. When she felt humor, she did the teeth-thing. 

“Me,” he said, grinning back.

“Weather, are you coming on to me?” she said, but put her arm around his shoulder and drew him to her.

He wrapped his arm around her waist and the two walked on for a bit. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

For a second, she considered it. She did have some experience with human men, after all, and Casta… well, they hadn’t really discussed the subject. She assumed Casta probably had some other relationships, possibly physical. 

And, despite what she’d implied to Brill under the bridge, she actually found the male equipment quite a turn-on, given the right circumstances. But she was in love with Casta, and ever since she realized that fact, any other physical relationship felt wrong. 

Weather sensed her hesitation and she felt his arm retreat from her waist.

“I’m sorry Quill,” he said, looking away from her. “I suppose we humans probably seem too odd to you as well.”

She pulled him closer, “Nonsense, I like you monkey-boys! Here, let’s get off the road for a minute…”

They stepped into a graveyard at the side of the road and Quill led him to a dark corner and sat behind a good-sized mausoleum.

“Weather, just so you know… I’ve spent time with a human man before. A couple in fact.”

“Quill, it’s just the drink, you know? I’m sorry if I offended…”

She pulled him to her again and kissed him on the cheek - at least as near to a kiss as she could without actually having human lips.

“Oh, I know Weather. I’d let you do me right here if only…”

“Only what?”

“Weather, I am currently on this trip to propose to someone in Chorrol.”

“Oh. I see. You’re in love then. I can respect that. Another Argonian?”

“No, in fact. She’s a human.”

She let him digest that little nugget for a minute. Both those little nuggets.

“So, you see, I’m quite interested in the human form too.”

“Just not....”

“Weather, I’m in love with this person. She happens to be a she. If she were male, I truly believe I’d still be in love with her just as much.”

“Okay, okay. I get it.”

“Weather…” she said quietly, and he looked at her again. “I’m not engaged yet.”

She saw his eyes brighten somewhat and laughed a little inside. “Men. So obvious. I suppose it comes from having everything on the outside like they do.”

“If you like, I could… um… show you my tongue - so to speak.”

Weather obviously considered it for a moment and she moved her hand down his chest to make her offer more clear.

He took her hand in his.

“No, but thanks Quill. It’s just the drink, you know? Makes me horny when I’m with you.”

She took his hand and pulled him up back to his feet.

“Me too,” she said. 

She kissed him again before they resumed their walk back to the Tiber.

At the door, Weather took her hands in his and bid her good night.

“Weather, I really did have a wonderful time.”

“Sorry about the whole…”

“That was the most wonderful part of the night. Honestly. I’m really flattered that you liked me that much! Maybe I’ll meet you on my way back.”

“I’d like that. When do you think that’ll be?”

She shrugged. “Not sure. Three days or so probably. I can’t be gone too long from home.”

“I do hope we meet again. I’ll respect your betrothal next time.”

She shook her head. “Really, it’s quite flattering, especially at my age, Weather. Don’t think another thing about it.”

“Good night, Quill,” He said, releasing her hands.

“Good night, Laythe,” she replied, and closed the door behind her.

The tavern was quiet now - the Bard had left and only a few patrons remained, conversing quietly. She went back to her room and closed the door behind her.

“You know,” she thought to herself as she got undressed and climbed into the bed, “you’re really not engaged yet. You could have.”

“Hey, it’s not like I didn’t offer a little something, if he’d wanted it so bad. Of course, it could be that the sharp teeth might be a turn-off.”

“Maybe if he’d have danced a little better,” she laughed to herself as she drifted off to sleep.

Her dreams were not visited by Vaermina that night, but Dibella may have had something to do with some of them.

  
  
  



	7. Arrival

* * *

When she awoke, she found herself extremely thirsty for physical companionship. She was going to rock Casta’s world today!

The sun was well up by the time she had gotten dressed, and she was happy to open her door to a nice breakfast, left by Augusta she was sure. She took full advantage of it before she strapped on her backpack and went back down to the tavern.

She quickly settled up with Augusta and headed out into the morning, if anything even happier than she had been the day before. She was back on the road and actually started singing a song the Bard had played the night before.

It was about midday when she got to Chorrol. She decided she’d head straight to Casta’s house. By now she knew the guards at the gate well enough that they recognized her and let her right in.

Casta’s house was a decent place - bigger than her own, but that’s what writing a hundred romance novels will get you. Quill straightened her clothes and took a deep breath before knocking on the door.

“Quill!” said the familiar face of her friend and love when she opened the door. “Come in! I’ve got lunch all laid out for you!”

“Great! I’m famished.” Quill smiled, setting her pack down just inside the door. Let me use your restroom and get freshened up a bit.

“Sure,” said her friend. “I’ll be in the kitchen.”

Once in the privacy of the bathroom, Quill set about removing the special strap she wore under her dress at the base of her tail and doublechecked the rings were still there, then hid them at the back of the cabinet along with the strap before washing herself and applying a bit of perfume. 

“Never hurts to smell nice,” she thought.

She stepped into the kitchen but didn’t see Casta. Then something tackled her to the floor and the kisses began.

“Oh Casta, I’ve missed you so!” she said, trying to return the affection as best she could.

“Not as much as I have! You sure you don’t want to eat lunch in bed?”

“Lighten up, Casta. We’ll have plenty of time for that tonight.”

Casta climbed up off of her and pulled her back to her feet. “Maybe not, I have a special guest coming by tonight! Come on, sit down and let me tell you all about it.”

Quill felt a little dejected. She’d hoped to have Casta all to herself. But she’d surely find some appropriate time to pop the question.

“Now, I know you don’t much care for the lovey-dovey stuff I write…” Casta began as Quill sat at the little kitchen table. 

The steak that was set in front of her looked like heaven, with some vegetables and a huge slab of bread and butter. Casta poured her a glass of dark red wine then sat beside her, taking Quill’s tail in her hands.

“Casta this looks delicious! But aren’t you eating?”

“Already ate. Sorry, I thought you might get here a little earlier,” Casta said as she began to stroke Quill’s tail.

“Okay, but you’ve seen me eat before.”

“I love to watch you eat. You know that! You’re so… sincere!”

Quill laughed. She had never understood why Casta liked her so much, but she was certainly grateful for it. She always felt so comfortable here. Not that the two hadn’t had their disagreements on occasion, but they were few and far between.

“Well, okay!” Quill said, and set-to with a vengeance.

“So, let me tell you all about our guest tonight. Like I said, I know you don’t really care for my love stories much.”

“Pedantic and derivative,” Quill noted between bites.

“So you’ve said. Fortunately it seems not everyone agrees. I got the most interesting letter late last month. Here, let me go get it…”

Quill felt the stroking stop and watched her go into the other room.

“Who was it from?”

“Wait, wait. Read it first,” said Casta from the other room.

When she returned, she held a paper of high quality. Quill noticed that right off. It obviously didn’t come from some Legionnaire!

Casta handed it to Quill, who paused in her eating to drink a sip of wine while she looked at the letterhead. It had an insignia. She put the wine down and stared at the logo.

“Oh my! House Hlaalu?”

“You’re versed in the Vvardenfell houses then?”

“Not the minor ones, but who doesn’t know of the Hlaalu, Redoran and Telvanni?!” 

“Indeed! Now don’t look straight to the signature. Read on first.”

Quill began to read. The script was written well, by an experienced hand. In perhaps a bit over-florid terms the writer expressed his appreciation for Casta’s work, and particularly in a book titled ‘Woman Gone Wild’. Quill had begun to read it once, but it had gotten a little too risque and she’d not finished it.

“Well, you certainly have a fan here. And one of high regard!” Quill said as she continued reading.

“Sure do!” Casta said, taking Quill’s tail again and resuming her stroking. Quill liked that.

“Oh! Is this…? Oh no.”

“None other. Curio himself!”

Quill confirmed at the signature. 

“So. The great Crassius Curio likes your books?”

“He does. I wrote back to him and he’s coming to visit tonight. Incognito, to be sure, but he confirmed he’s coming!”

“Casta…” Quill started.

“Now Quill, I’m sure you don’t like his work. I already know what you’ll say. Sexual innuendo, themes of master-servant relationships, infidelity, all that.”

Quill set the paper down and looked at Casta disapprovingly.

“But Quill, he’s still the most famous writer in all of Tamriel.”

“Casta, that damn Argonian Maid thing…”

“I know. But you can’t deny it’s probably the most popular book ever written.”

“Technically a play, but I grant you that - though it’s only because a bunch of horny men think they can get any Argonian to polish their spears. Casta, that work has done such damage to Argonian women like none other. You know I don’t like it. Not one bit.”

Casta stopped stroking her tail. “I knew you’d think that way. And yet, in bed you’re as wild as me!”

“In private! But no, I may not like his books, but I’m still looking forward to meeting him Casta.”

“You’re not going to start an argument with him are you?”

“I’ll tell him what I think of that book - of that you can be sure. But I’ll be respectful. He must have something going for him to have risen to his level in House Hlaalu like he has.”

“Just be respectful of that. You can do that for me, can’t you?”

“Now Casta, when have you ever known me to be disrespectful?” Quill-Weave protested.

“Shall I list those on the receiving end of your caustic tongue alphabetically, or by date?”

That got Quill laughing again. “Well, okay - but certainly not to a member of such a great House. I’ll be good. I promise.”

“You better be. He expects to be here by nightfall. Now, speaking of your caustic tongue...”

Quill eyed her lover. “Are you making a Curio-style sexual innuendo?”

“Me?! Oh, Quill, you surely jest!”

“Uh huh…” Quill replied, downing the rest of her wine. “See, already you’ve begun to imitate him.” 

Casta feigned indignation. “I have not! I can make my own sexual innuendos just fine.”

“That is true!” Quill admitted.

“So now, if you’re finished with your lunch?”

“I am. And a very good lunch it was.”

Suddenly Casta leapt from her chair and once again tackled Quill to the floor.

“You’ll be wanting dessert I expect.”

“Yes, your innuendo is working just fine. I concede! As for dessert, indeed, I do! But perhaps in bed would be a more comfortable place?”

“Fuck the bed! That’s for sleeping. Right here, Right now!” Casta demanded and began applying her kisses again while fingers worked their way inside Quill’s tunic.

“Well, if you insist!” Quill laughed, and unbuckled her belts.

  
  



	8. Casta Scribonia

* * *

Some unknown time later Quill-Weave found herself sprawled over Casta’s couch, her head on the floor, one foot over the armrest and the other buried in the cushions above her. She was breathing hard but at peace and, despite her incredibly unlikely position, oddly comfortable. She opened her eyes and looked towards Casta, bumping her snout on Casta’s bare foot.

“So…” she began, then coughed to clear her throat. It was the first word she’d spoken in over an hour, though vocalizations of other types had been common enough during their playtime.

Casta lifted a pillow from off her own head and looked at Quill-Weave from under her armpit.

“Hmm?”

“So,” she began again, “When does the great Crassius arrive?”

Casta inhaled deeply. Quill-Weave watched her back rise and fall. It was a lovely back, and none the less interesting for lack of a tail.

“He expected to arrive around nightfall.”

Quill looked instinctively towards the window. Still plenty of daylight shone through.

“Good,” she said, and closed her eyes again.

“I’ll never walk again,” Casta complained with a chuckle.

Quill smiled and let gravity do most of the work as she slithered herself over Casta’s legs and back till her head lay beside her lover’s.

“Oh that felt good! Like a snake crawling up my back.”

“Not a sensation most humans would relish, I gather,” Quill-Weave whispered in her ear.

Casta rolled over onto her back, but Quill-Weave maintained her position atop her friend.

“Lucky for you I’m not most humans,” Casta smiled and began kissing Quill yet again.

Quill-Weave returned a kiss, then wrapped her arms, legs and tail around her friend and squeezed her with all the strength she had left.

“That is a fact,” Quill-Weave admitted

“I can’t breathe when you do that,” Casta laughed, and Quill-Weave relaxed. “Are you a lizard or a constrictor?”

Quill pulled herself up by her hands and looked down at Casta.

“What?” Casta asked as she noticed the serious look on Quill-Weave’s face.

“I am your lover, Casta Scribonia. I have been for years. Casta…”

Her friend looked up into her eyes, and she felt Casta stiffen a little underneath her. She had sensed that Quill-Weave had something important to say.

“I’d like to be more.”

Casta’s head turned ever so slightly. “More? As in…”

Quill-Weave shut her eyes for a moment before reopening.

“I love it when you do that,” Casta said, breaking the mood for a moment. “Nictitating membranes are so cool!”

Quill-Weave realized she was doing this all wrong. This should be asked in a more dignified manner. Maybe on one knee or something. Not while laying naked atop your intended bride and squeezing your hips together with your tail.

“Sorry,” she said, and let herself back down onto Casta’s chest again. “Bad timing, I know.”

She felt Casta’s hands, now released, begin to trace the curve of her backbone.

“Oh Quilly.” Casta whispered. “I just want to stay here forever. Fuck Curio. Let’s just stay here. Right here.”

Quill-Weave closed her eyes again and let her full weight go atop her lover, while releasing her tail.

Forever lasted roughly 15 minutes, but it was a very nice, lazy 15 minutes.

“I gotta piss,” Casta announced finally. 

“Well that’ll break the mood!” Quill laughed, but rolled off of Casta.

She watched her friend climb to her feet and pad out of the room towards the bathroom. It was a nice view, even if her friend’s back did bear the impression of the couch cushions slightly. Finally she got up too and began to straighten the room.

Casta returned and began to help.

“Oh shit, we really messed the place up didn’t we?” she laughed.

Quill-Weave picked up a melon that had been somewhat squished at some point in the last hour or two.

“What the hell did we do with this?”

Casta looked at the object and began to giggle. “Oh. I forgot about that. Probably should throw it away. I  _ do _ know where it’s been.” 

Quill held it at arm’s length as she marched the offending fruit into the kitchen and into the trash.

“Hey Casta,” she called. “I'm going to go take a shower.”

“Okay,” her friend’s voice called back. “I’ll finish up here.”   
  


She crossed over to the bathroom and turned on the water. It was cool, running down from the rain barrel on the roof, but not terribly cold. She began to clean herself when the door opened.

“Casta!”

“What? After what we just did, surely you don’t mind if I watch a little?”

She considered that. But it was one thing to roll around the floor in the heat of passion, but quite another to watch someone take a shower… wasn’t it?

“I… guess…”

A few minutes passed and Quill realized she was all too conscious of her friend’s eyes on her.

“Casta… it’s kind of weird.”

“Aw! It’s fun!”

“Okay, but… do you mind?”

Casta stood up and sighed. “Alright. I’d let you watch me.”

“Casta, you might be a little weird.”

“And you’re a stick-in-the-mud.”

“I am not! I let you put melon juice all over me!”

Casta couldn’t argue with that. “Well, I am bedding a lizard, after all. I guess that makes me a little weird.”

Quill put her hands on her hips and donned a frown.

“What?” Casta said from the doorway.

Quill pointed. “Out!”

The door closed reluctantly as Casta’s voice faded behind it. “Stick-in-the-mud.”

Finally she could wash her intimate areas in privacy!

“Nice!” came a familiar voice, and she saw Casta with the door back open again as she brought her neck back up from between her legs.

“OUT!”

The door closed to laughter from outside it.

“You’re so very  _ FLEXIBLE! _ ” it called back.

Quill couldn’t help but laugh too, and continued washing. “ _ That’s _ why you bed a lizard!”


	9. Crassius Curio

* * *

It was getting dark outside and Quill and Casta were drinking coffee in her parlor.

“Have you read anything by Crassius  _ other  _ than the Lusty Argonian Maid?” Casta asked.

“Well, actually no,” Quill-Weave admitted. “I mean, isn’t that enough?”

“Here,” Casta said, rising from the couch beside Quill-Weave and crossing to her bookshelf. “I’ve got a copy of the Dance of the Three Legged Guar around here somewhere.”

Quill sipped again at her cup as she eyed Casta’s backside, but all too soon she’d found the book and handed it to Quill.

There was no illustration on the cover, but the inside facing page had an illustration that made it very, very clear exactly what the Guar’s third leg was.

“Oh gods,” Quill muttered. “Please tell me this isn’t going to be about…”

“Read,” Casta said while crossing behind the couch to read along over Quill-Weave’s shoulder.

“Not very long,” Quill said later as she closed the book.

“Well, they say ‘brevity is the soul of wit’.”

Quill turned and looked at Casta. “Did you think that was witty?”

Casta shrugged and returned to sit beside Quill-Weave.

“Well, at least it wasn’t what you thought it was going to be about, right?”

“Thank the gods for small favors, no. Nobody humped the Guar. But Casta, that’s just outright pornography, isn’t it? It certainly gets specific!”

“I suppose parts of it are. But the characterization is pretty impressive don’t you think?”

“There’s also an awful lot of Master/Servant interaction. That bothers me too.”

“Well, at least the Master is a Mistress. Surely at least that part you appreciate? But to be fair, those themes do run through most of Crassius’ works. Be honest… did you enjoy reading it?”

“Do I  _ have  _ to admit it?”

Casta laughed at that. “Just what I thought!”

“But I don’t like that I liked it!”

“Ah, that’s just your bourgeois morality showing. Surely your interest in the lower classes has demonstrated that there are other valid standards?”

“Valid, yes, but I still view them from the perspective of my own more traditional morality.”

“And yet, you got horny reading that.”

“Casta! I did not!”

“Uh huh.”

“Well, if I did it’s just because it was so outlandish!”

Casta put her head in Quill-Weave’s lap. “We get pretty outlandish at times. I like outlandish.”

Quill began to run her fingers through Casta’s hair. “Well, I do too. But only when I’m alone with you.”

“Aw. You’re sweet, Quill.”

A knock came from the door.

“I expect that’s him. Come on.” Casta said, getting up.

Quill-Weave felt a little nervous, though she didn’t quite know why. She’d met people of the upper classes before, and this Crassius Curio had origins in a quite lowly caste. But still…

Quill stood a little behind Casta when she opened the door. Outside stood a tall man covered by a black riding cloak, with a hat pulled low. He looked up at the opening of the door and Quill saw a pair of dark but piercing eyes from within the shadows.

“Casta Scribonia, I presume?” came the deep but lilting voice within.

“I am! And you are?”

A hand shot to Casta’s lips.

“I am he. Please, though, may I come inside first?”

Casta stood back to let the famous author, playwright and Hlaalu Councilor into her house. 

Those dark eyes flashed to Quill-Weave instantly and she noticed a quick movement underneath the cloak.

“And who is this?” he asked, stepping back.

“Introductions would be better done inside, don’t you think? But this is Quill-Weave, another author and good friend of mine. I’m sorry I didn’t warn you before, but I wasn’t sure if she would be able to come.”

At the name, the eyes and stance relaxed and he nodded and stepped inside while Casta shut the door behind him.

“I must apologize for the dramatic entrance, Quill-Weave,” he said as he removed his hat and unfastened the clasp of his cloak. “I hope you will forgive me. As a Councilor of House Hlaalu, it is necessary for me to be on guard when travelling abroad.”

He held his hat and cloak out, and it was abundantly clear immediately that he was used to having servants attend to him. Casta took them and hung them on a nearby hook.

Quill had formed a negative impression of the man before she’d ever laid eyes on him. Her impression now that she had actually met him was little changed, though he was a man that many would call handsome - even charming if you liked that sort of thing. But he exuded an air of elitism that rubbed her the wrong way instantly.

“Can I get you a drink? Quill, can you get that tray of fruit and cheese from the pantry?”

“Actually, I’ve a gift of a very fine brandy for us to share. Though I hadn’t expected the great Quill-Weave to be here as well, I’m sure there’s plenty for all.”

Quill’s eyebrows raised at the word ‘brandy’ and she turned back to see Crassius produce a significantly large bottle of the amber liquor. She’d never tasted brandy before - her neighborhood tavern didn’t stock it. The ‘great Quill-Weave’ bit didn’t hurt either. Perhaps she could at least give the guy the benefit of the doubt first.

When she returned to Casta’s parlor with a snack tray, Crassius and Casta were sitting besides each other on the couch. Quill set the tray down on the low table in front of them.

“Thank you, Quill-Weave! Casta, do you think you might bring us out some glasses - also some water… in a clean bucket if I could be so bold?”

“Water in a bucket?” Casta asked, confused but rising to do his bidding.

“You’ll see. Clean, please.”

As Casta left the room, Crassius’ eyes narrowed and he leaned forward. “So, I gather you don’t approve of my works, Quill-Weave.”

“Do you really want to get into this so soon, Mr. Curio?”

“Oh, please, do call me Uncle Crassius.”

“Why would I do that? You are not my uncle. Mr. Curio, we might as well get this out in the open right now. No, I don’t like your ‘works’. I don’t like them at all.”

Crassius sat back and smiled. “I respect that, Quill-Weave. Honesty is the only way we authors can learn anything of value from each other tonight. I have read some of your works, and while I don’t find them among those I keep next to my bed, I do like them. You are a talented wordsmith, though - if I may say so - perhaps a bit aloof. Your nonfiction is always interesting, but you seem distant from your subject matter. As if you are a teacher and we the students. Perhaps it might benefit from more personal perspectives.”

Quill took this in. No matter the source, any honest critique is feedback that is useful. “And my fiction?”

“Ah… your fiction. It is - oh, how best to put it? Dry, shall we say?”

Quill laughed and sat back herself. “Dry? Well, I suppose coming from you that’s to be expected. Your works are practically dripping!”

Crassius smiled. “Quill, not everyone is cut out to be an author. Unlike you and Casta, it’s not really my main focus. So when I do write, yes, I tend to write about more visceral things.”

“Loaves and spears.”

“It sells. Besides, I consider myself more of a part-time playwright than an author.”

Casta returned and set the bucket on the floor beside Crassius where he indicated, and set the glasses on the table beside the snack tray.

“Talking shop already?” she asked, taking up her place beside Crassius.

“Afraid so,” he said, but stood up and examined the bucket. “Oh yes, this will do nicely!”

He passed his hand over the bucket of water and instantly Quill-Weave saw the condensation form there.

“Magic!” she whispered, but Casta had eyes only for Crassius at the moment.

Crassius set the bucket down, then scooped out some small chunks of ice from it and dropped them into the glasses. He then poured a generous portion into each glass, stirring his own with his finger.

“Sorry to be so dramatic,” he said as he licked his finger. “But I much prefer brandy on ice. I hope you’ll agree!”

Casta was obviously impressed. “A playwright, author, Hlaalu councilor and mage too? You are quite the talented man, Uncle Crassius!”

Quill frowned at the appellation, but Casta wasn’t looking. 

Meanwhile Crassius was holding up his glass.

“A toast then perhaps?” he asked, and both Quill and Casta took up their own glasses.

“To imagination,” he said. “Without which none of us could thrive!”

Quill-Weave nodded her agreement and clinked her glass against the others. There was a toast she could agree with.

The brandy went down cool and a little sweeter than she’d expected. She knew it was made from wine, but it didn’t really taste of grapes. In fact… it tasted of…

“Pears!” she exclaimed, looking at her glass.

“A refined palate! Yes, indeed. This is pear brandy. A personal favorite of mine, I admit. I hope you like it as much as I do.”

“It’s very good,” Casta said, setting hers down and taking up a cheese-topped cracker. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t have caught the fruit myself though.”

“It is true that I try to take advantage of many disciplines, but I hardly qualify as a mage. I’ve learned enough to do a few parlor tricks, but I’m afraid my talents in that area would be woefully inadequate in any serious situation.”

“So, what other talents do you have?” Quill asked, somewhat impressed.

“Well, I’ve begun investigating alchemy for example, since you asked. We’ve a quite accomplished alchemist in House Hlaalu, and he’s shown me a few little potions that come in handy on occasion,” Crassius said.

“Aphrodisiacs I presume? **”** Quill-Weave scowled.

“Ah, that is a given. I’ve found some quite effective ones in fact, though I find the best are similar to hypnosis in one way. They really don’t directly cause sexual interest, so much as release the inhibitions. Frankly they’re more akin to alcohol in their effects, but without the inebriating side-effects. If the subject is genuinely attracted to someone, that attraction will only manifest more easily. There are, indeed, combinations that will cause what you imagine a true aphrodisiac to do, but I find them distasteful. What is the point if the subject regrets his or her actions afterwards?”

“You’re an interesting man, Mr. Curio,” Quill said, taking another sip.

“I try to be,” he smiled. “Take tonight’s encounter for example. Had I any intent to woo our host Casta here, I might well have laced this brandy with the more direct substances to induce her willingness - nay,  _ insistence  _ \- on such a liason. But that was not my intent.”

Casta moved closer to their guest. “So what was your intent? You’re a long way from home, just to visit another author.”

“Not just another author, Casta. I find your books fascinating in fact. From a technical point of view, they are admittedly somewhat similar - yet you invariably find an unusual angle on each that keeps them fresh. I am, I fear, not nearly so creative. In fact, it appears my imagination has become somewhat stagnant of late. I came here to try to discover your secret, if such a thing exists. If not, at least to perhaps glean some understanding of what drives your talent.”

“Well thank the gods for that,” Quill laughed. “At least you didn’t drug our brandy!”

“Didn’t I?” Crassius smiled with one eyebrow raised.

Quill looked at her drink, as did Casta.

“But, you didn’t put anything in it! I saw you open the bottle.” Quill-Weave protested. “You poured all three drinks together.”

“Ah. You assume I wouldn’t apply the same tincture to my own drink. But what if the potion were, as I said, not one to cause sexual attraction, but just to cause lowered inhibition? Why should I not subject myself to the same potion? Surely you know by reading my books that I have very little inhibition to begin with. It would barely affect me.”

Casta backed up almost imperceptibly.

“Oh relax, my dumpling, you’ve nothing to fear. I only want to talk about our common talent - storytelling. As for you, Quill-Weave, I’m afraid I have no idea how it would affect Argonians. From what I understand, you are quite resistant to most potions. I doubt it would so much as touch you.”

“That’s pretty low, don’t you think? Drugging us without our permission?”

“Tell me, Quill-Weave…” Crassius began. “Did I force you to drink my brandy?”

“Well… no.”

“And what effect do you suppose an alcoholic drink like this would promote? Why would we drink alcohol in a social situation to begin with? It’s quite common - but why do we do it?”

“To… relax,” Casta filled in for Quill.

“Yes. Exactly. So we can relate to one another without excessive reserve. But alcohol alone has such negative effects. The brain starts to fog, the speech slurs. Not to mention the hangover the next morning. Surely you would prefer to avoid that? This ‘drug’ as you put it carries none of that. It only reduces the social inhibitions that prevent true discourse.”

Quill was unable to counter that argument. “Still… did you really?”

Casta interjected, “And don’t call me dumpling!”

Crassius began to laugh heartily. “I beg your forgiveness, Casta. As for your question, Quill-Weave, perhaps. Perhaps not. Are you familiar with the concept of the placebo effect?”

“I’ve heard of it.”

“In this situation, let’s say I did not add any such potion to our brandy. Yet let’s say you thought I did. Would you then, at the end of the evening place the responsibility for your actions on yourself, or on the potion? You see how just the thought of such a potion could loosen your inhibitions in-and-of itself? The placebo effect is, I assure you, quite powerful.”

“You’re not going to tell us, are you?” Casta said, hitting Crassius lightly on the shoulder.

“No. I’d not tell you. That would deny you a convenient scapegoat on the morrow.”

  
  



	10. The Lusty Argonian Maid

* * *

Whether it was due to the brandy or the effects of some possible potion in it, Quill-Weave found herself quite at ease a half hour later. The conversation had shifted to Casta’s books, and while she still didn’t much like Crassius Curio, she had to admit that he did possess a certain roguish charm.

“Do you have any experience with male Khajiits yourself then?” Crassius was asking.

“Oh, not intimate experience, but occasionally some will wander into the tavern I frequent. We have only one lavatory so… well… I’ve peeked on occasion. For purely research reasons of course!”

“Of course,” Quill laughed. “So what they say is true then?”

“Oh, it’s true enough,” Crassius nodded. “I’ve seen them up-close.”

Quill looked at him askance.

“Look, it is true my interests tend to that nature, I’ll not deny it. I like to think I have many interests, but that is certainly high on my list. And I invest considerable time and effort into my interests, I can assure you of that. It’s not my _only_ interest!”

“Male khajiits?”

“I like to educate myself on all aspects. Though I am obviously drawn most to the feminine.”

“Aren’t we all?” Quill laughed. “But I have read the Three Legged Guar…”

“Sure!” Casta laughed. “Just before you got here!”

Quill scowled at Casta. “Well, yes.” she admitted, then turned back to Crassius, “Still, I did read it. I suspected there must be some interest in males by the author to be able to write that well from the feminine point of view.”

By this time, Crassius was laying on the floor on his stomach while Casta sat cross-legged beside him. Quill had yet to renounce her chair but had at least assumed a much more relaxed posture, draping her feet over one side and lounging on the other while twirling her tail idly in the air.

“I have to admit it was purely imagination. But I have had intimate conversations with females before. It is a fascinating thing, to try to imagine what the other sex must experience. It is said that mages in ages past used to be able to change their sex at will.”

Quill-Weave rolled her eyes. “Well, for that matter it is _said_ that Argonians can do the same. I assure you, it’s bullshit!”

“Ah,” Casta said as she held out her glass for a refill. “Which brings up just as valid a point, doesn’t it? What must it be like not only to be a different sex, but to be a different race? Do other races experience - not just sex, but the entire life experience - similarly?”

Crassius got up and refilled Casta’s glass. The reason he was laying on his stomach was immediately obvious and he resumed his place on the floor - “so as not to distract from the intellectual conversation” as he had put it.

“That is so,” Crassius said, turning to Quill-Weave. “Even just the simple possession of a tail like yours must make for an entirely different life experience than we can imagine!”

“As far as I can tell,” Quill began her answer. “It really doesn’t. At least not nearly as much as possession of a penis seems to.”

“Or breasts,” Crassius pointed out.

“Well, I’d say less so, but still… After having lived in human company so long, I just don’t observe much difference between how we experience the world. Speaking of which…”

Casta sighed. “Here it comes.”

“Now Casta, we agreed to be brutally honest, right? She has a right to express herself.”

“Can we talk about the elephant in the room?”

“My penis?”

That set both Casta and Quill-Weave laughing. 

“No, Crassius. The Lusty Argonian Maid.”

“Ah. I thought it was only a matter of time. Go ahead. Let me have it. You have to admit it’s the most popular work I’ve ever written though. It’s hard to argue with success, but may I assume you don’t approve?”

Quill drew in her breath before beginning.

“That damn book has done more to harm the reputations of Argonian females in the realms than anything else! Now every damn drunk and lecher thinks we’re ready to drop to the floor and polish their spears at a whim. I can only imagine what it must be like for any poor Argonian that has chosen to be a housekeeper! Why the fuck did you have to write it about an Argonian?! It’s derivative too. I can name you at least three other works that are so similar that - if their authors were alive today, they could rightfully claim plagiarism! WIth that damn book…”

Crassius’s smile was broadening with every word, but he interjected, “Play. It was a play.”

Quill continued, “Okay, ‘Play’. That got turned into a book for horny men everywhere to sate their own lusts over. What the hell were you thinking?!”

Crassius finished his own drink and refilled it, tossing in a couple ice chunks from the bucket before responding.

“Quill, come down here. I want to talk to you about that book seriously, and it’s difficult when looking up your skirt like this.”

Quill gasped and closed her legs.

Crassius patted the space beside him, and Casta took up a position nearby.

Quill refilled her own glass and lay beside him.

“First, I can’t argue with anything you said… except one thing. First, it _is_ derivative. Hell, it’s practically copied verbatim. And yet it is so popular that it has completely overshadowed those other works. What about it is so different do you suppose? Surely it’s not the maid aspect - nor even the master/servant roles. You tell me, what makes it different?”

“It’s an _Argonian_ maid,” she replied confidently.

“Yes. And not only that, it’s a _lusty_ Argonian. It is abundantly clear that she is lustful. She lusts after her master. Agree so far?”

“Well, yes…”

“Now, before this book, what literature can you think of that depicted Argonians at all? Besides historical, can you think of any actual stories that featured an Argonian?”

“I can think of a few actually.”

“FIne, fine. Tell me, did any of them portray the Argonian emotionally? Any actually describe the inner feelings of the Argonian? Any even _female_?”

“Well… no. They’re usually minor characters.”

“Always?”

“Okay, maybe they’re pretty much always minor characters.”

“Agreed. Now, let me continue my rebuttal. Who does this lusty Argonian lust after?”

“Her master, naturally.”

“Is her master another Argonian?”

“Well no. It’s implied he’s… well, it’s implied he’s _you_.”

“Ah yes. A blatant self-insert. For what it’s worth this was one of my earlier works. But my point is that the master is rather clearly _not_ an Argonian. Granted he’s married, which ups the tension and the taboo nature a bit, but the point is that she is attracted to a male who is not an Argonian.”

“I don’t see the relevance. And he is her master after all.”

“True. But do you get the sense that she’s lustful after her master _because_ he’s her master?”

Quill shook her head, though she didn’t yet see where Crassius was going with this.

“Quill-Weave, before this work I propose to you that all of Tamriel somewhat feared Argonians. Between your reptilian aspect, ability to breathe underwater, teeth that only a large Khajiit could rival. Frankly, your kind are physically intimidating. There’s no denying it. And because of that the other races keep you in the background. Simply put, we fear you because you are the unknown. Even in fiction, your motives are often unclear, your thoughts hidden. Not to mention the ever-mysterious Hist.”

Suddenly Quill could see his point, but she didn’t interrupt.

“The Lusty Argonian Maid is, I propose, the first work of art that - if you’ll forgive the term - _humanizes_ the Argonian. It gives them emotions that we can understand. Certainly lust is such an emotion. And better yet, lust for a human. As if even the fearsome aspect of a sharp-toothed lizard can be swayed by such a deeply-human feeling such as desire. That is something we can relate to.”

“I…” Quill began, and Crassius gave her time to digest without interruption. Even Casta was looking at her.

“I’ve never really considered that.”

“I thought not,” Crassius said with finality.

Casta spoke in the silence that followed while Quill continued to consider Crassius’ argument.

“Did you think about any of this while you were writing ‘Lusty’?”

“Of course not. I was just writing an innuendo-laden story about a scaly maid polishing her master’s spear. I’ll not lie about that. But the effects of the play - and the book - far exceeded what I’d set out to do. I’ve had years to consider why that was, and this is what I’ve come up with. I think it resonates with people - well, men at least - that otherwise have felt confusion over their feelings about Argonians. And not just female Argonians. If female Argonians can have lustful thoughts just like they do, maybe male Argonians aren’t so different from themselves either. Maybe they’re really pretty much the same, underneath the scales!”

“Okay. I get it,” Quill-Weave said. “Maybe I’ve been too critical of that. I do concede your point. Still, we’re not all a bunch of in-heat females dying to get our loaves squeezed.”

“Oh, Quill. You know that’s just a male fantasy. It doesn’t change. Any man who doesn’t already know the difference between a fantasy and reality… Well, he has more problems than this little escapist fantasy can cause. The vast majority of us know what is bullshit-wish-fulfillment, and how the real world works.”

Quill was quiet for a while after that, while Casta and Crassius talked about their different creative processes. But she wasn’t really paying attention anymore. She was thinking about the relationships between the races of Tamriel, and the more she thought about it, the more she had to agree with Crassius’ assessment on the popularity of the Lusty Argonian Maid.

Maybe it did cause some men and mer to assume all Argonian women were lustful creatures - like Blackie had initially at the bar when he’d whistled at her. Or Weather, who had openly admitted his attraction to her Argonian form. Without the social changes that the Lusty Argonian Maid had caused, would either of those men dared to even broach the subject? Maybe she really was being far too hard on Crassius, even if he had only planned to write a silly sex romp with an Argonian. The runaway success of the story hadn’t been his plan, but in some very real ways it had lessened the barrier between the races considerably.


	11. The Proposal

* * *

“So,” Casta was saying. “Let’s change the subject just a little, shall we? We’ve been talking here about each other’s writing all this time…”

“A little critique is a good thing, though,” Crassius pointed out.

“Certainly, certainly! But tell me - and I’m not saying I’ll change a thing - but if you were able to change one thing about my writing style, what would it be? And you too, Quill. What would you change? Though to be honest I’m not talking about changing genres. Romances are what I’m known for, and that’s not going to change.”

That got both Quill and Crassius thinking.

Crassius was the first to respond. “I suppose it’s what you would expect of me. When your protagonist and her hero finally get together… you think  _ my _ writing is full of innuendo? You pull the curtain over them completely! Perhaps you could at least give the reader a little peek under the covers once in a while? For research purposes of course.”

Casta’s face turned a bit angry. “That’s not so easy for me to do.”

“Oh? Why not? And don’t worry, you can tell me anything. I give you my word it will stay within these walls.”

Oddly Quill was surprised to see Casta look at her. She returned the look in confusion.

“It’s not that I don’t know the mechanics,” she said, all the while looking at Quill-Weave. “But…”

This time it was Crassius’ turn to look confused. Then suddenly his eyes opened wide and he looked from Casta to Quill-Weave and back again.

“You’ve never been with a man!” he said, voicing the realization that Quill herself had just figured out.

“Not technically true, but my only experience was a long, long time ago. And it wasn’t pleasant.”

“I see. I’m sorry to hear that Casta.”

“Don’t worry, I don’t blame all men or anything like that. We were young and stupid. But, since then I’ve found the companionship of other women to be preferable. This woman, to be specific.”

Quill’s eyes began to tear up. “Oh Casta. We never really talked much about your past.”

“I know,” Casta said. “I know you have more experience in that area than I do. I didn’t want to seem… I don’t know…”

Quill made a decision right then. Perv Crassius or no, this was the time.

“Excuse me,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

With every step she took, she felt more and more confident. For all intents and purposes, she had just declared her love for Quill, hadn’t she? Quill took the rings from where she’d hidden them in the cupboard and took them back to the parlor.

“Casta Scribonia,” she said, kneeling in front of her friend and passing Casta’s opened ring-box to her. “Would you marry me?”

That brought both Casta and Crassius to their feet. 

“Oh my!” Crassius said, looking back and forth between the two.

“Quill! Are you crazy?! Here, in front of Crassius Curio of all times?”

“I don’t care, Casta. I want to marry you. I was going to ask before, but it didn’t feel right.”

“Well that’s a hell of a lot of pressure you’re putting on me all of a sudden! Please, Quill. I  _ can’t _ answer you right now!!!”

Quill’s confidence suddenly began to waiver. She looked to the floor and put the ring away. She realized she was trembling.

“I’m sorry, Casta. I thought…”

“Oh Quilly,” she heard as Casta knelt beside her. “Don’t be sorry. But we’re not teenagers. I can’t make a decision like that here, on the spot like this!”

Quill-Weave looked up, then looked at Crassius.

“It’s that damn potion, isn’t it?”

Crassius backed away, his hands up in a defensive gesture. “Quill,” he started. “Think about it. Would you be feeling the way you do right now if there was a potion involved?”

She lowered her eyes. The embarrassment was still there, but the heat that had begun to rise against Crassius instantly cooled.

“I suppose not.”

“Quilly, I’m the one who’s sorry. I’m not ready for that yet.”

Crassius backed away. “Perhaps I should be going.”

Casta stood up and took Crassius by the hand. “Maybe that would be best. It’s been a very entertaining evening though! Very thought provoking.”

“Quill-Weave…” he began, but there were no words. It wasn’t his fault.

“No,” she said, standing up with eyes redder than normal. “You’re fine, Crassius. I shouldn’t have put either of you in that situation. I was stupid.”

“No,” Crassius assured her, and took her hands in his. She looked up at his face. The lines were much more evident, and the shock of grey hairs at his temple could be seen to extend much further from close-up. He suddenly looked much older than he had before. “You were human.”

“I’m not,” she said, smiling weakly.

“Sure you are. Now you and Casta work this out.”

“Thanks for the brandy,” Casta said, handing him his hat and cloak.

“My pleasure. I assure you both that I’ve had quite an education myself tonight. Well worth the trip, in my estimation. Even if I didn’t get to see either of you naked.”

Both of the women gave him a curious look.

“Well hey, I’m still a guy after all,” he said, unexpectedly sheepish.

“That you are,” Quill said and slapped him lightly before giving him a peck on the cheek. “But you’re a better man than I thought you were when you walked in the door.”

“I’m glad to have met you Quill-Weave. Maybe someday we’ll meet again?”

“I’d like that.”

Crassius Curio turned to Casta.

“And thanks again for hosting me, Casta. I’ll be in touch.”

Casta gave him a sincere hug and kiss, then pulled her blouse down to reveal her breasts.

“ _ CASTA! _ ” Quill-Weave hissed, a heavy blush rising in her cheeks. Visible or not, she felt it.

“Oh, lighten up Quill. The man just appreciates a fine female form. Is that so much to be ashamed of?”

Even Crassius was taken off guard. 

“Oh, my! Quill, you have my sincerest envy. Your lover is exceptionally gifted!”

“Why thank you Crassius,” Casta said with a gigantic smile at Quill-Weave. “I assure you that my gifts are very well appreciated by my lover.”

Crassius’ hand instinctively rose before he got himself under control and tore his gaze away.

“I… should be going! Thank you... again, Casta!” he said, stumbling over his words.

Quill-Weave laughed at seeing the great Crassius Curio nonplussed for a change, and her embarrassment before was quickly fading.

“Well don’t look at me, Uncle Crassius. You’re not seeing my tits.”

And with that, Crassius Curio smiled, bowed low to the women, sweeping his hat across the floor before donning it and stepping out into the dark.

“Better put those away,” Quill said after the door closed.

“Not just yet,” Casta said, and pushed Quill-Weave’s head into her cleavage. “They’re like swords that once unsheathed must be used!”

Quill applied plenty of kisses to Casta’s gifts then, before suggesting they continue in the bedroom.

“Traditionalist to the end. Okay you old stick-in-the-mud, but bring the rest of that brandy. I have some ideas for it that you certainly won’t approve of!”


	12. Departure

* * *

The sun was nearing its peak when Quill-Weave awoke. On the bed above her, Casta was snoring quietly. She looked around without moving her head. The floor could use some dusting underneath the bed, she noticed. Then she started to cry silently. Casta had tried to soothe her with physical affection, and she appreciated it well enough certainly, but it didn’t resolve the central issue. 

She had said no. Not in such a blunt way, of course, but the result was the same. Casta had assured her that it wasn’t a permanent answer. Just for right now. But Quill-Weave knew better. And she knew herself. She wouldn’t ask again.

She rose quietly and went to the bathroom, gathering her scattered clothes on the way. There she withdrew her tail-strap from the back of the cabinet and fastened it on. Then she went downstairs, trying not to make any noise. She packed, wrote a hasty note, and left it on the table.

She saw the ring boxes and thought about leaving Casta’s ring behind. But no. This had been a mistake since day one. And the ring wasn’t Casta’s. She had rejected it. Another tear came to her eye as she put the boxes back in their little pouch and turned the strap back around. The precious stones were just a pain in her tail now. She walked out of Casta’s house into the bright sunlight.

Maybe Casta just wasn’t the one for her. Maybe she’d put too much into their relationship that just wasn’t reciprocated. That they had a great time together physically she couldn’t deny, but…

She looked up at Casta’s bedroom window. Casta was there, naked as the day she was born, looking forlorn herself. Typical Casta, oblivious to the possibility that anyone else could see her. Whatever else, Casta Scribonia was no stick-in-the-mud. She waved weakly to Quill-Weave, who waved back, offering a wan smile.

Casta blew her a kiss, and she turned away, heading towards the town gate with her head low. Maybe if she was more exciting? More spontaneous? Or maybe it was just the simple fact that Casta didn’t want that kind of commitment. She didn’t know. She just knew that she wished she’d never bought those rings. She’d be feeling a lot better now. Casta had made it abundantly clear that she wanted to see Quill-Weave again. She didn’t want this to be the end of their relationship.

But Quill-Weave had jumped the gun. Pulled the trigger before Casta was ready. And what had she been thinking, to do it in front of someone who Casta obviously looked up to? But she had been so vulnerable at that moment, and it had made Quill’s heart ache. She’d meant to make her love known. Well she’d certainly done that.

Maybe this would all blow over though, given time. Maybe. Now her life was full of maybes though, and she didn’t like that.

These thoughts continued to run through her mind as she trudged down the road to the Imperial CIty, but no one accosted her and she arrived as the sun was lowering. She could have stayed another day or two at Casta’s, but she just wanted to crawl under a rock now.

Her spirits weren’t lifted when she stepped inside the TIber Septim, but she was glad that Augusta had kept her room available anyway. She saw none of the people she’d met in the bar though.

“A bath for you?” Augusta asked, and she had begun to turn down the offer, but then realized she hadn’t bathed since last night. She probably smelled of stale brandy. She changed her mind.

She did smile to see Cliff was there, though he was working on another patron. He looked up and smiled at her, nodding, but he didn’t stop his conversation with the man he was bathing. She sat in the waiting area, letting the setting sun warm her scales while she closed her eyes and tried to nap.

“Quill-Weave? I’m ready for you.” Cliff said sometime later and she opened her eyes.

“Oh. Hi Cliff.” she said as she removed her clothes.

“Didn’t go well?”

She sighed as the water ran over her head. “No. Not well.”

“Mmm. Sorry to hear that,” he said. She didn’t know if he was being sincere or not, but it didn’t really matter. He was still awfully damn good at his job though. She began to cry again. 

“I’m sorry Quill-Weave! Is there anything I can do?”

She smiled at him sincerely. “You’re doing it right now, Cliff. Just… let me get this out of my system - like the dirt from my scales. Just ignore me, okay?”

“Whatever you say, Quill-Weave. You’re the customer!”

“And I’m always right,” she said, and a smile came to her unforced. She was feeling better. Maybe it was just the physical touch that had done it, but regardless she felt her troubles slip into the warm water.

“Cliff, have you ever read The Lusty Argonian?”

“Quill-Weave, you _did_ say that I should keep any such thoughts to myself last time, didn’t you?”

“I did. But that was then. This is now. I’m always right!”

“I have.”

“And, what did you think about it?”

“Ma’am?”

“Did you like it?”

“I’m… not sure I should answer questions like that, Quill-Weave.”

“Well, nevermind. Did you read the whole thing?”

“I did.”

“Heh. Then I know the answer.”

“Is that good?”

“Yeah. I think it is.”

“Lift your tail, please,” he commanded.

“That was her name, wasn’t it? Lifts-Her-Tail?”

“Hmm? Oh. I guess it was.”

“Yeah. I think so. Clever name. Suggestive but entirely possible with our naming conventions. Do you like Argonians, Cliff?”

At that Cliff stopped his massaging of her leg and looked up at her.

“Quill-Weave, I’m not at all sure this conversation is appropriate here. I’m not comfortable talking about it with you.”

“Just answer the question honestly. I promise I’ll shut up about the whole thing.”

Cliff stood up and faced her. He was standing in the deep part of the bath while she stood on the center pedestal with his head at about the level of her stomach. He put his hands on her hips and looked up past her breasts to her eyes.

“I find you very attractive, Quill-Weave,” he said without an ounce of deceit in his eyes.

She smiled. “Sorry for that, Cliff. I shouldn’t have asked. But, sometimes it’s important to know. Maybe it’s just a woman thing.”

He sat back and resumed his work, right where he’d left off.

“To be honest, Quill-Weave, I’m surprised you didn’t notice.”

“Not strapped down today?”

“Apparently not enough.”

“Well, I honestly don’t look, Cliff. Maybe I should more often.”

“I sincerely hope not. I try to be professional, but some instincts aren’t easy to control. Tail down.”

She lowered her tail and he began to work on it.

“Quill-Weave…” he started hesitantly.

“You can just call me Quill, Cliff.”

“Just… to be clear. I’m a married man.”

“Oh, relax. I’m not going to ask you to come to my room tonight. But you got me thinking now. Would you, if I asked?”

Once again he looked up at her. “No.”

She tousled his hair. “A good man.”

“Thanks!”

“Okay. You’re all done. Lay down on the couch and I’ll dry you off.”

She did as was directed and felt his strong hands buff her with a thick towel.

“Quill-Weave, I don’t mean to pry, but can I ask you a personal question?”

“Me? Sure! Go ahead.”

“You. You had an unusual scent today.”

  
“Ha! Eau de Brandy! Sorry about that. Last night was kind of wild.”

“Ah. I shouldn’t have asked. On your back.”

She turned over and he dried her front. “No, it’s fine. Doesn’t make for the best perfume the day after I’m afraid.”

When he had finished, she let Cliff put the fluffy hotel robe around her shoulders. She belted the robe closed, gathered up her clothes, and asked for dinner to be brought to her room. She knew she wasn’t going to be visiting the bar tonight. Just dinner and then to bed early this time. She’d get an early start in the morning. Better to get home and get back to work so she didn’t dwell on things too much. Maybe she’d write to Casta later.

She was laying on her bed, staring at the ceiling when the knock came later. The sun had gone down and she’d not bothered to light a candle. Only moonlight lit the room, but it was enough. She got up with just her robe on and opened the door.

Outside, with a tray of food, stood Weather.

He began to speak, but she put her finger to his lips and invited him in wordlessly. She didn’t know what god had answered her, but she knew divine intervention when she saw it. She wasn’t normally into men, but right now she needed this man to hold her. She took the tray and set it aside, then let the robe slide off her shoulders and fall to the floor, closing the door with her tail.

The door was not opened again until morning.


	13. The Long Road Home

She awoke to find Weather looking at her, watching her breathe. She didn’t mind. 

“Don’t read anything into it,” she whispered. “I don’t think you could understand anyway, but thanks for last night. I needed you.”

“Happy to be of service, I guess!” he whispered back.

“I’ve got to go now. Please, if you can, don’t mention this to your friends, okay?”

“It’ll be just between us three.”

“Three?”

“Well, Augusta said you were feeling bad. She… suggested.”

“I owe her one. Okay. Just between us three.”

“Will we meet again?”

“Weather,” she said, and took his face in her hand. “Don’t take this wrong but, I hope not.”

He nodded. “I understand.”

“Was I anything like you expected?”

“Better.”

She smiled at that and kissed him, with that same awkward kiss that was a rough approximation of a human kiss. He seemed to like it though.

She began to stand up, but he drew her back down.

An hour later the sky had lightened but they were still in bed.

“Weather, I’ve got to go.”

“Okay. Last night was for you. This morning was for me.”

She smiled again, and this time he let her get up. He helped her with the tail strap.

They left the tavern together in the dim morning light, before she hugged him one last time and headed towards the Gold Road gate.

Suddenly she stopped cold in her tracks. She had totally forgotten about the Legionnaire. She hadn’t mentioned her to Casta at all. Dammit, she couldn’t go back now. She’d just have to write about her in her next letter to Casta.

Once she got outside the gate, there was a Legionnaire on horseback there, but there was no boob-armor.

“Hello Citizen,” he said, his voice booming in the early morning quiet.

“Oh gods,” Quill-Weave thought. “He’s _enthusiastic_.”

“How’s the road looking today?” she asked.

“With the soldiers of the Imperial Legion guarding it, only the most foolhardy bandits would show their faces upon it this day! Would you like an escort? I’ll be leaving soon. I only await the arrival of the Night Patrol.”

She considered it. Though she didn’t look forward to travelling with this ridiculous hulking soldier, his muscles looked as solid as tree trunks.

“I wouldn’t want to slow you down. Maybe for just a little way?”

“We exist to protect, good Citizen. You are a Citizen, aren’t you? You have a somewhat foreign aspect.”

“I live in Anvil and have for the last twenty years,” she replied, a little bothered by the comment.

He leaned down from his horse, appearing to examine her closely.

“Yes, I am an Argonian. But I assure you I am also a citizen, if not a natural-born one!”

Another Legionnaire topped a rise a short distance away.

“Ah, here comes my fellow soldier! We may depart.”

Quill eyed the horse. It looked rather fierce. She decided to keep her distance, but the soldier kept pace with her till they met the other Legionnaire.

“Ahoy fellow Legionnaire!” her guardian said, much too loudly.

“Oh!” said a voice that sounded familiar. “You’re Quill-Weave, right? We met the other day.”

“I am. But I have to apologize. My trip to Chorrol was… well, it was shortened unexpectedly and I totally forgot to mention you to Casta. I’m truly sorry. I’ll be writing to her when I get back home though.”

“Oh. Well, do mention me to her though won’t you?”

“I will. I promise!”

“That reminds me, look at this!”

She pulled a tattered book from her pouch. Emblazoned across the top was the title ‘Red Crater’.

“Oh! You found one of my books!” Quill-Weave exclaimed, truly happy.

“I have. It’s quite good, though to be perfectly honest, I’ve read another of Casta’s in between. They’re certainly nothing alike. Do you often write about criminals?”

“Criminals!” her guardian exclaimed. “Scum and villainy! Why would you want to write about such filth?”

Quill-Weave thought fast. “Ah, but only by truly understanding the enemy can we remain vigilant, wouldn’t you agree?”

Her companion’s eyes squinted in the morning sun, looking into the distance. “Indeed. Vigilance is the Imperial Legion’s sworn duty!”

“So then, you see, your partner here is only doing research so she can perform her duties even better!”

“Well, so it would appear. But let us be off. The patrol must not delay.”

The angry horse started off again, and Quill looked at Ashley who was smiling inside her helm.

“Nice dodge,” she said in a hushed tone.

“I’ve been called a Dodger before,” Quill smiled back. “You needn’t tell him how the book ends. I don’t think he’d approve.”

“Oh, he’s alright. A bit Gung Ho. You’ll be okay. Just… if he runs into any trouble, stay far away from him! He can get a bit violent and, worse yet, somewhat carefree of collateral damage.”

Quill looked back at the big man lumbering away.

“Maybe I’ll hang back a bit.”

“Good plan. Have a good trip, Quill-Weave!”

“And to you, Ashley, my good reader!”

Quill-Weave gave her a parting salute that made the Legionnaire laugh, and then she was off to catch up to the big man on the surly horse.

Later, she bade farewell to him as well as she stopped to rest and get something to eat from her pack. It happened that she was at the bridge she had stopped at originally. Once the Legionnaire was out of both sight and earshot, she called.

“Brill? Are you around?”

“Shh!” came a voice from under the bridge.

“Don’t worry, he’s gone.”

“That’s a nasty one you were with. Fortunately his armor is polished so shiny that we can see him coming from miles away! So, how’d it go?”

She rounded the end of the bridge and met Brill underneath.

“Not so good, to be honest.”

“Oh? Don’t tell me she said no!”

Quill nodded morosely.

“Oh. I’m sorry Quill.”

“Me too. She called me a stick-in-the-mud.”

“You? Surely she doesn’t know you very well then!”

“Maybe she’s right,” Quill said. “I need to be more spontaneous.”

“Or maybe she’s not the right girl for you.”

“Brill, it’s not like I propose to lots of women every day! She is. I don’t know. She seemed like the right girl.”

“Ah, buck up gal. Lotta life left in ya yet. Who knows what may happen.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” Quill said, and lifted her skirt.

“Do me a favor and take this strap off, would you? I’ve carried these damn things far enough.”

The Orsimer’s eyes lit up. She was somewhat glad to know that the sparkle was less for seeing her ass than for knowing what was in the little pouch she’d kept under her tail.

She took out the ring boxes and handed them to Brill.

He looked at her, and then handed one back.

“No, Quill. You keep yours.”

“But I don’t want to be reminded of this catastrophe. No, you go ahead. Pawn em or whatever you want to do with them.”

He took the box back, then smiled. He got down on one knee.

“Quill-Weave,” he began.

“Oh Brill, don’t be silly.”

“Will you marry me?”

“Brill. That’s not funny.”

“Come on Quill. Be my wife. I’d love to tell the guys that I’m married!”

“The other ‘Mountain Men’?”

“Of course! We’re honest men out here!”

“Who hide from the Legionnaires.”

“Well, sometimes they don’t ask questions first.”

She took the ring from him and put it on. The facets gleamed off of her wet eyes.

“Oh Brill.”

“See? Now it’s not the ring you were going to marry her with. It’s _our_ ring!”

She hugged the big Orsimer, and he hugged her back.

“Thanks Brill. I’ll treasure it always - though I won’t wear it after I get back home.”

He grabbed her butt and squeezed.

“BRILL!”

“That was our honeymoon! Now you’d better get going. Also, check the pawn shop in Kvatch next week if you’re interested. My ring might get lost in there somehow.”

“Thanks, Brill. But I think I’ll just imagine you’ll keep it.”

“Won’t fit my finger.”

“Hell, turn it into an earring for all I care. But I don’t want to know what happens to it. I just want to put this whole disaster behind me.”

“I really am sorry though, Quill-Weave.”

She hugged him again. “I know you are, Brill. That’s the thing with the poor, you know. You are the most honest people in the world. When you’re not robbing others.”

He held up the ring, then stuck it in his pocket.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Quill. I’m not poor!”

She laughed and turned back towards the road. “Goodbye Brill.”

“Goodbye wife!”

The rest of the way back she was still depressed, but thinking of Brill did make her smile. Until she got back to her house.

It was dark and empty when she opened the door. Just like her thoughts. Dark and empty. It was all that damned Vaermina’s fault.

She hadn’t been home for more than an hour when a knock came at the door. She’d forgotten to close the shutters.

“Hi Quill!” said a too-happy voice.

“Oh. Hi,” she said, inviting her DM friend in.

“Whoa, are you okay?” he asked, noticing her demeanor.

“Yeah. Just… things. What’s up?”

“Was wondering if you’d like to get together tomorrow for a game over at Wilbur’s with me and Gorgo?”

She was about to object on principle, but she thought about it. She only hated her friends a little bit. They weren’t to blame. And this place was going to be hellishly lonely tomorrow. Maybe a little distraction wouldn’t be a bad idea.”

“You know what, yeah. Let’s play. But I gotta warn you, I’m probably going to get stinking drunk.”

“You always play better when you’re drunk! It’s a date!”

“Great. See you tomorrow then. Around five as usual?”

“Sounds good. See you then,” he said, and she shooed him out, closing the door behind him.

Then she pulled out the old wooden tub and poured herself a bath. She looked at the ring. Brill’s ring technically. Though he had given it back to her, so she guessed it was hers again. It was a damn pretty ring.

She closed the blinds, locked the door and slid into the bath. There would be no attendant today to rub the dirt from behind her scales. She was all alone again in a house at once too small, and also too big for her.

She finished her bath, dried off, emptied the tub and padded up the stairs to her room, wrapped in the towel. She took one last look at the ring. It _was_ a beautiful ring. Damned beautiful.

Then she put it back in its box and hid the box at the back of the bottom drawer - out of sight, if not yet out of mind. She’d write to Casta tomorrow and tell her about Ashley. What else could she say?

She blew out the light, dropped the towel and climbed into bed. As she looked around her room in the dark, she considered that - as bad as she felt - at least her house was immaculate. Except for that spiderweb. But she left it there intentionally. She’d never liked pets. She’d had no luck with them at all. But a spider wasn’t a pet. It fended for itself. That was admirable. She needed to be like that spider.

If nothing else, she could be proud of her house. Nothing would disturb that at least.

She looked at the drawer, but sleep wouldn’t come. Finally she got out of bed, took out the ring, and put it on her finger. The moonlight reflected in its facets, and she began to cry again as she crawled back under the blanket while blinking away the tears. She cried herself to sleep, but blessedly she had no dreams that night. 

Vaermina had seen to that. She wasn’t quite the heartless Daedra that she portrayed herself as. Even the Daedra sometimes showed compassion.


End file.
